tenacity

Infected at a young age, the unyielding fever came on slowly. Far from bed ridden, I was unable to remain still or sleep, I found myself preoccupied with hallucinations of traveling, social justice and saving humanity. This fire lurking beneath my bones, I later discovered, was not shared by everyone and often misunderstood. This disease became apparent in high school, I was an apathetic, punk rock sophomore failing the public alternative system of Tucson, Arizona.

Under that balmy, monsoon evening of November 1986, the Iran-Contra Affair spread through suburban living rooms across the nation- the US had been supporting the Contras through Iranian arms sales, a hostage release, Oliver North, Ronald Regan lied to the people and national human rights watch along with catholic organizations were accusing the US backed Contras of human rights abuses. El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua were making headlines.

How one transforms into a Sandinistan, FSLN, supporter escapes me- discussions on the high school campus, rallies, protests, media? It's all unclear; but I awoke from my fever tearfully enraged, my country supported brutality and bloody violence against innocent civilians (where has my tenacity fled?). Feverishly engaged, I unearthed my first sense of direction, a paper entitled, A Reconstruction of the Iran-Contra affair. Much to my mother's chagrin, my mission discovered: a high school in EL Salvador had recently been pillaged, students had been injured, several teachers were abducted and those remaining were in need of educational resources, funding and supplies. Rallying for local support, I ended up with more than imagined. The student's supplies came pouring in, a van donated, my crazy leftest teacher agreed to drive us and in May we were to begin the road trip south, 1984 thousand miles to El Salvador.

Ignorant, naive, impressionable, wide-eyed, intentional, humanist...
How would I describe that girl today, should I meet her at my door, pleading for funding or support?

She never made it to El Salvador that month of May 1987, instead she learned she was with child. At 16, she altered her trajectory inward and decided to save herself, her daughter.

Political affairs have altered, but the pillage has not. My daughter, now 20, is ardently claiming her own path. The insatiable yearning for travel never dies, there is no cure. Sometimes there is no purpose or destination, just a raw hunger eating at the soul.

Sweating, tunnel vision, shallow breaths... Two open jaw tickets to India purchased, with less than two Sundays, three nights from the full moon of May, feet will swoon under Indian soil.